


The Adventure Of The Bishopgate Jewel

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [34]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Caring Sherlock Holmes, Deception, F/M, Jewelry, London, M/M, Murder, Slow Burn, Theft, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Doctor Watson loses his wife, and both Sherrinford Holmes and his lover Kean Hardland are more than a little surprised that a certain consulting detective says nothing out of place. Fortuitously the doctor is also distracted by another case, in which a jewel thief does not get away with it after all.





	The Adventure Of The Bishopgate Jewel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indygirl96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indygirl96/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

There is never a good time to lose a loved one – I have always dreaded that Kean might be taken from me in some way, despite his protestations that nothing should ever separate us – but for poor Doctor Watson to lose his wife at the start of December, when the streets were full of people preparing for the festive season was, I thought, particularly cruel. Poor Mrs. Watson had seemed to be rallying at the end of November but had suffered a fall on the last day of that month and was with the choir invisible just two days later. My brother Sherlock worked to speed the sale of a family home that no longer had a family, so at least the unhappiness to Watson from that was kept as little as possible.

I had my private fears (and my lover his loudly expressed ones) that Sherlock might say or do something insensitive at this low time in his friend's life, but fortunately the old routine seemed to be what the doctor needed. Especially as the two of them were, barely days after Mrs. Watson's funeral, involved in a case of murder most foul.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

Poor Constance. 

I had loved her so briefly, yet in bringing her back to a cold, wet Old Country I had brought her to her doom. It was in a way made even harder by her remaining her wonderful self right to the end, when she made me promise that if someone else came into my life who made me as happy as I had been with her, I would not refrain from offering my hand in matrimony 'to preserve her memory'. Indeed, she wanted but a simple funeral with only one wreath from me, with all those others attending to donate the money they would have spent on short-lived tributes to be given to the Baker Street Orphanage. That was so typical of her.

About the only good thing to happen that festive season was that the house sold within hours of my telling Holmes that I wished it to be put on the market. He told me that he had used certain contacts of his to find someone looking for just such a property, and I was glad both to be rid of it and for the money, especially as I could not live there a moment longer with memories of Constance all over the place. My brief halcyon existence as a typical Victorian family man was over and I willingly moved back into Baker Street with Holmes 'for the time being'.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I did not notice then but Holmes seemed to have far fewer clients about that time, even given the fact that the London criminal fraternity often reduced its 'efforts' over the festive season (that had been another request of Constance's, that I always mark Christmas properly and not desist just because she had died not long before it). Only much later did Mrs. Hudson tell me that he had deterred all but the most important of clients for that time, although if I had been more 'with it' I might also have noted how rarely even he went out of a day. But the week before Christmas he seemed preoccupied, and I asked him why.

“I may have another case.”

“Who is it?” I yawned. At least I had slept better this past week, and I definitely enjoyed coming out to our landlady's delicious breakfasts. 

“Lady Moreton-Coles wishes to consult me about a possible theft”, he said. I looked at him in confusion.

“How can one have a 'possible theft'?” I asked dubiously. “Has the would-be thief sent her a letter of intent to steal from her?”

He chuckled at that.

“She believes that someone – I presume a specific someone - will attempt to steal the Bishopgate Jewel”, he explained. “It is..... a little delicate.”

I sighed.

“You do not wish for me to be here”, I said, trying to be understanding.

He looked at me in shock.

“Watson!”

I started. He seemed shocked by his own vehemence, judging from the faint blush that appeared. There was an awkward silence between us.

“You know me well enough that, in the unlikely event a case cannot involve you, I would say so directly”, he said eventually, and he sounded almost hurt. “I merely wished to ascertain if you could leave work early one day this week so that you could be here when she calls.”

I felt warmed by his inclusion of me in the matter. I had started back half-days at the surgery, who had been most understanding about my bereavement.

“Wednesdays are usually quieter”, I said. “If I did some extra hours today or tomorrow, I am fairly sure that they would let me off early.”

“Then if you can confirm that with them this morning”, he said, “send me a telegram and I shall then inform Lady Moreton-Coles that she can come here on Wednesday at four o'clock.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I must admit that although I had little time for _grande dames_ in society, I rather liked Lady Antonia Moreton-Coles who was a regular feature in the social pages of the London newspapers. She was first cousin to the Duchess of Stratford-on-Avon but rich in her own right, her father having speculated successfully in an assortment of industries. She was known for championing decent conditions for the workers in her husband's factories and was a financial supporter of (though not an active campaigner for) women's suffrage.

She was also clearly ill-at-ease. Holmes sat her down in the fireside chair and took his own seat opposite her, not asking any direct questions. I took the seat at the table, my notebook at the ready. Clearly his tactics worked for she soon opened up to him. 

“I hardly like to say what I am about to”, she said, looking nervously anywhere but at the detective.

“My lady”, Holmes said calmly, “be assured that everything that you say in this room is in complete confidence. That is _guaranteed.”_

That word seemed to calm our guest and she took a deep breath before beginning.

“I am sure that you know my familial circumstances, Mr. Holmes”, she began. “I am, unusually for this age, rich in my own right. When I decided to marry Denzil my father fiercely opposed the match – he believed that only a titled noble was good enough for his daughter – and he only gave in after my future husband agreed to sign a legal document waiving all his rights to my wealth.”

“Such a document might not stand up in court”, Holmes observed. 

“My father's lawyers assured him that it would”, she said firmly, “and for what they charge him I am sure that is correct. But that is merely background information, although possibly relevant to what has happened in the last few months.”

“Please go on”, Holmes said politely. She took another deep breath.

“Four months ago Killigrew, my husband's valet, retired. He was a good man, old-school and very reliable, sometimes inclined to water the whisky but with servants nowadays one has to take what one can get. Unfortunately his replacement, a man called Macbeth, worries me.”

“Why?” Holmes asked.

“I was not overly enamoured of him when we interviewed the various applicants, but the others were all _quite_ intolerable”, she said. “But ever since his arrival Denzil had started getting into what I would call 'bad ways. He is increasingly evasive over money, and I think that he has started taking out loans.”

“He cannot do that forever”, I observed. She nodded.

“However”, she said, “two weeks ago he came to me and said he wanted to actually.... _insure_ the Bishopgate Jewel.”

_(For those of a later generation, this beautiful blue topaz was – and still is – set in white gold, and dated from at least as far back at the early eleventh century. It was so-called as it had been found under the Bishop Gate in Canterbury Kent, through which those appointed as primate had to walk through on their way to be confirmed in their position by the Pope. That had been a little under a hundred years ago, and it had been set in a necklace with sapphires. There had been at least three recorded attempts to steal it from previous owners, Lady Antonia's father purchasing it from its last American owner some five years prior to the events described here. Frankly I was amazed that even someone like the lady before us would dare to risk wearing it out in public)._

“You think that he should not insure it?” I ventured.

“I have always distrusted insurance agents”, she said, shuddering as she said the word. “A good safe or strong-box is better than paying someone for nothing, and one can place money aside in a bank and still have it. But Denzil was firm that he wanted to insure it for five thousand pounds.”

“You are fearful that your husband may attempt to engineer a fake theft of the coronet, and then claim the insurance”, Holmes said. 

“Yes”, she admitted. “He made the first payment himself and promised to transfer it over to my name, but he keeps delaying. I fear that he may have the jewel stolen, claim the money and then leave me. I do not think that he is seeing anyone else, but my female intuition tells me that something bad may be about to happen.”

Holmes looked thoughtfully at her.

“It would be very difficult to stop such a theft happening”, he said. “As with most crimes, the advantage lies with the perpetrator, who can choose the time and place of their strike. Unless, of course, you encouraged it.”

She stared at him in shock.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“What I meant”, he said, “was that you could engineer a situation whereby he had an opportunity to take the jewel, and then have someone ready on hand to catch him or his agent 'in the act'.”

She sighed unhappily

“I really hope that I might be wrong about him”, she said, “but perhaps such a thing might show his innocence if he does not make an attempt. I will do as you advise, Mr. Holmes.”

“Good”, he smiled. “I will think about this some more, then visit you at Granville House tomorrow.”

“But surely that will alert my husband?”

Holmes nodded.

“Precisely”, he said. “It will tell him that if he is going to act, it must be soon. And when he learns that I am currently too busy but will be free in two weeks' time say, then he will have to act sooner rather than later. Either way, you will _know_ , Lady Moreton-Coles, and that knowledge will bring you peace of mind.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The next day Holmes went to Granville House that morning to tell Lady Moreton-Coles (in the presence of her most gossip-prone maid) that he could not accept her case just now as he had a pressing government matter to attend to but would call again as soon as he could, most likely soon after her return from her forthcoming trip to Scotland. She had in turn invited him to dinner that same evening. 

“Lady Moreton-Coles has told her husband that she does not want to risk taking the Bishopgate Jewel on a train, and will entrust it to the bank whilst she is gone”, Holmes told me when I had got in. “As I am due to meet with her immediately upon her return, the attempted theft must be made very soon.”

“Had you not better get ready?” I asked. I had only just returned to the house having had to take some extra patients that day as we had found ourselves a doctor short.

“I was waiting for you”, he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Me?” I exclaimed.

He looked as surprised as I felt.

“Of course”, he said, as if it were obvious. “I cannot undertake a case without my friend.”

I knew that I was blushing, but I felt so warmed at that that I simply did not care. Smiling, I went to get changed.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Lemington House was a truly ghastly modern building, which for some inexcusable reason the Moreton-Coleses had had painted pink. Not pastel, but bright rose pink. And not even a tree or four to tone it down. It was truly abominable!

“Cannot I just stay outside with a paint-pot?” I muttered as we left our cab. “Or some dark glasses. There ought to be a local by-law against such abominations being allowed in London.”

Holmes chuckled.

“It is a little forward”, he admitted. “I would like to talk with Lord Moreton-Coles before his wife makes her grand entrance.”

“Of course”, I said, following him inside. 

We were duly announced, and Holmes led me immediately across to where Denzil Moreton-Coles was standing. He was a pasty-faced young man, blond and worried-looking, and I judged some ten or so years younger than his wife. I was a little surprised that standing behind him was presumably the valet in question, Macbeth – servants did not attend dinners, surely? He was younger than I had expected, about the same age as his master although in far better condition, his black hair slicked back and shining in the gaslight. When Holmes mentioned who we were I noted an immediate flicker of something in the valet's dark eyes. Alarm? Whatever it was, Lord Moreton-Coles muttered something to him and he swiftly left us. 

“He seems quite young for his post”, Holmes observed. Lord Moreton-Coles nodded.

“Yes”, he said. “I interviewed six men when my last valet left and the other candidates were all older than him, but my wife disliked all of them.”

Not as much as she dislikes this one now I thought, but said nothing.

“She will be making her grand entrance shortly”, Lord Moreton-Coles said, a little acidly, I thought. “She loves sweeping down the long staircase to descend unto the rabble below.”

“I wish that I had been able to help her over her concerns about that jewel of hers”, Holmes said ruefully, “but lately I have been extremely busy. And some of my clients.... well, one cannot keep government or royalty waiting, as I am sure you understand. But I have promised her that upon her return from Scotland I shall be able to give her my immediate attention.”

Lord Moreton-Coles nodded again.

“She has a bee in her bonnet about me insuring the damn thing”, he said. “I had one of the best jewellers in Bond Street make her a perfect copy of it, but she does not like it. She says that it does not _feel_ like the real thing.”

“The female of the species can be strange in her ways”, Holmes agreed. “I can see that your wife is approaching the stairs. We shall allow you to go and meet her.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Dinner was almost over when I noticed Holmes, sat to my left, talking to his neighbour Lady Moreton-Coles.

“You seem a little uncomfortable, my lady”, he observed. She sighed.

“I yielded to Denzil's persuasion and am wearing the fake jewel”, she said quietly. “I know that it looks exactly the same as the real one, but it just feels wrong! I think that I shall have to go and change it.”

He nodded understandingly and the gentleman all stood as she left the table. She had barely gone before the butler announced that coffee was being served in the drawing-room. We all filed out and I noticed that Holmes looked unusually pensive. I was about to ask him why when there was the sound of a gunshot from upstairs, swiftly followed by a second.

“Antonia!” Lord Moreton-Coles yelled and led the charge. 

I was about to follow when Holmes laid a restraining hand on me and turning, I saw him shake his head slightly. I had the oddest feeling that, somehow, he had been expecting this.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Lemington House lay in that part of London whose local inspector was Mr. Athelney Jones, and I was not surprised when the man himself was soon in attendance for such an important theft. He was about fifty years of age, looking much more the typical _bon viveur_ than a London inspector, but Holmes had on his few visits to us spoken very highly of him. My own opinion was that his greatest talent was flattering other people like Holmes into doing all the work so that he himself could take the credit!

Inspector Jones had assembled ourselves, the Moreton-Coleses and Clara, Lady Antonia's maid. The policeman pulled out a notepad.

“I understand how terrible this must be for you, my lady”, he said gravely, “but it is important that we get a full understanding of the events that transpired this evening whilst memories are still fresh.”

She nodded and leant back on the couch. I noted that she turned to her maid for comfort, not her husband.

“I went up to change the fake jewel for the real one”, she said, wiping her eyes. “I entered the room, and there was this.... figure at the window. I could only see an outline, but he was holding something sparkling.... it must have been the real jewel. He threw it over the balcony and turned and saw me. He had a knife - I saw it gleam in the light from outside - so I took out my revolver and.... and.....”

She juddered to a halt. 

“We found boot marks in the mud near the wall at the back of your garden”, the sergeant said, “and a fallen brick where it looked as if someone had cleared the wall. So two men, and the second one got away with the real jewel.” He stared at Lord Moreton-Coles. “Which sir, I am led to understand you just had insured?”

“I did”, the lord said testily. “What are you implying, sergeant?”

“Just getting all the facts, sir.” Inspector Jones had, I thought, perfected the sort of blank look that made the average cow look as if it was over-concentrating. “I am sorry that it was your valet who got shot.”

Lady Moreton-Coles sniffed.

“I always knew he was a bad lot!” she hissed. “He would have got away with it if I had not gone back to my room just then.”

The inspector nodded and ushered myself and Holmes from the room. He led us to the billiard-room, where he leant against one of the tables.

“If only she'd been there ten seconds earlier we might still have the bauble”, he said ruefully. “Now that man's confederate has gotten away with it!”

Holmes smiled.

“May we go to where the shooting happened, Jones?” he asked.

“What do you expect to see there?” the inspector asked as he led the way out of the room and over to the stairs. “Whatever it is, I hope it's quick. I've a room full of the great and the good down there who are getting their feathers ruffled about not being allowed to leave. And they're not the sort of people someone in my position can afford to upset!”

My friend just shook his head. We made it to Lady Moreton-Coles' room, and once inside Holmes immediately began searching around the dressing-table.

“The body was over by the window, sir”, the inspector pointed out, clearly puzzled by his actions. 

Holmes looked at him, then pulled back one of the rugs and pointed. There was a small but notable blood-stain on the wooden floor.

“I would wager”, he said quietly, “that that is from the victim, Macbeth. Probably from the shot that killed him.”

“But that is at least three yards from the window”, I pointed out. “And if he had been bleeding, then he surely would have left a mark across the carpet as he dragged himself over to the window?”

“Exactly”, Holmes said. He sat down in the large chair by the bed and pressed his fingers together in thought.

“This was an excellently planned crime”, he said. “One highly able criminal mind, and one unwitting scapegoat who took the fall.”

“The thief got away”, the inspector pointed out. To my surprise, Holmes laughed.

“When you saw those footprints, what did you notice?” he asked. 

“They were deep”, the sergeant said. “And wet.”

“Precisely.”

The inspector looked as confused as I felt. Holmes sighed.

“Not the footprints, but the space between them”, he said. “In both directions they were very evidently made by someone walking, as they were evenly spaced and the pressure applied to each step was as one might expect from a walking man. But a running man – and we are invited to imagine that the thief ran for the wall to effect his escape - applies pressure forwards, and his prints would be more spaced out on the way to the wall.”

I gasped.

“They were fakes!” I said. “A false trail.”

“Indeed”, he said, smiling at me. “Someone wished to create the impression that a second man took the jewel. And there was also the loose brick in the wall, yet there is a perfectly serviceable and unlocked gate within sight a little further along. I checked before we arrived.”

I had wondered why Holmes had had the cab-driver drop us off at the back of the house and had then walked round. Especially as the pink had been even worse out the back of the house!

“But Lady Moreton-Coles told us that Macbeth was calling down to someone, and passed him the coronet”, I objected.

He looked at me, clearly willing me to get it. 

“She was lying”, I said. “But why?”

Holmes sat back.

“We know that Lady Moreton-Coles married her husband against the advice of her family”, he said. “That counsel, though resented, turned out to be quite wise. Denzil Moreton-Coles was a poor husband and she quickly tired of him. But even with all the paperwork and law on her side, she knew that her family would most likely elect to pay him off if only to avoid the publicity. Unless that was he found himself suspected of a crime and there was publicity anyway, in which case they would fight it in court.”

“She plans it well. When her husband's old valet retires she ensures that her accomplice, the hapless Mr. Macbeth, is employed as his replacement by objecting to any rival candidates. She then very publicly makes it clear that she does not like or trust him, so that no-one can suspect their partnership. I am afraid that she may even have hinted to him that, after the divorce, there might be the prospect of her marrying him. It was her intention all along, however, that the man should die in a faked theft of the Bishopgate Jewel.”

“Faked?” I ventured. “But it was stolen!”

“No”, he said. “The _replacement_ was stolen. The real one which she now has on played no direct part in the crime, so the police did not wish to examine it. Which, unfortunately for Lady Antonia, is where you will find the evidence against her or at least part of it. I would suggest that you inform her you need to borrow it for a quick sketch 'for the records', then get a jeweller to examine it. He will vouch that it is real enough, and I think she will find that at least hard to explain.”

He sighed before continuing.

“She has arranged that Macbeth will make the theft at a certain time. She times it well, going to her room just before, and finding him waiting for her to hand it over. Instead she shoots him – by the dressing-table where the jewel was kept, not the window – then drags his body out and throws it over the balcony. You will remember that we had to break down a locked door, even though she had only gone in to seemingly change her gewgaw.”

“She looks strong enough to haul a grown man around”, the inspector conceded. 

“I dare say that if you look hard enough, you will find the boots that Macbeth used to make the fake prints”, Holmes said. “Lady Moreton-Coles may also find it hard to explain why her husband's valet was shot in one place and then crossed a room, opened a window and threw himself off of a balcony. Though I suspect that your real problems will lie further down the line.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Macbeth is dead”, he said. “She is alive, and doubtless a smart lawyer will make sure that as much blame as possible is pinned on the evil, conniving valet rather than the poor, defenceless lady who was obviously so grievously misled and cruelly taken advantage of. I doubt that you will get a murder conviction, Jones.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Holmes turned out to be mostly right. When the case did reach court the first jury hearing it refused to convict on murder, claiming that there was enough doubt as to the lady's full complicity to stop them sending her to the gallows, resulting in a mistrial. A second hearing over a year later saw her sentenced to jail for most of the rest of her life, but she still did not pay the ultimate price for murder. Her wealth passed to the husband that she had wanted to dispose of and he offered Holmes a most generous reward, only for my friend to waive it in favour of the late Macbeth's family, a brother and a sister whom the valet had been helping to support.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
